Adam felt something blotting at his lip and opened his eyes again.

"You done split it again," Hoss explained. "Musta hit it when you fell."

Adam frowned, then winced: a memory picture flashed behind his eyes. "Oh," he said slowly, closing his eyes again to shut the picture out. "I remember." Once the Pandora's box of memories was sprung, other pictures leapt out and he shifted restlessly, trying to sit up straight, opening his eyes again and taking careful note of the room. Still there. "Where are the Fairchilds?" The question seemed suddenly urgent. Hoss's hesitation stretched and Adam turned his head, trying to catch his eyes. "Hoss…?"

Hoss thrust out his lower lip, worrying it with his teeth. "Well…" he studied Adam, watching him. "Miz Amelia's with Doc. He's sending her away someplace - some hospital er somethin' - Michigan, I think. Thinks it'll do her some good, maybe. Says she's got a sickness in her mind. Pa's payin'."

Adam frowned. "Pa? I don't - "

"It's fer, Adam. Why do ya think? Reckon he'd pay to send her to Timbuktu, if he thought he could get away with it. Speakin' fer myself, I'd like ta send her ta perdition and have done with it."

Adam didn't smile. "What about…?" His eyes sought out the doorway again, traced it reassuringly, flitted to the shaving stand, the night table.

Hoss cleared his throat. "Well, one of em's dead…"

"Dead," Adam repeated, running his tongue over the gash in his lip, tasting the blood there. "Which one?"

Hoss grimaced. "Don't rightly know. Amelia sure cain't tell us and nobody else kin tell'em apart."

Adam glanced again at Marie's quilt, back at the door. "What happened?"

Hoss sighed gustily. "Don't rightly know. They had a tussle - gun went off - one of 'em got shot, other one run off. The one was dead afore we even got to 'em - shot clean through the back."

"The back!?" Adam's tone was sharp enough to make Hoss widen his eyes questioningly at him.

"Yup. They were fightin'…what?" He studied Adam's profile, then reached over to fold the quilt more securely around his neck. "C'mon now, you stay with me, brother - what's on yer mind?"

Adam swallowed, his eyes watching something only he could see. "I need to see Roy," he said finally, breathlessly abrupt. "Has Roy been here?"

"'Course he's been here - both as a friend and as a sheriff. Whattya think?"

Adam jerked a nod. "I need to talk to him. Will you ask him to come see me?"

"'Course I will, onct it's daylight, if'n you don't go gettin' yerself all worked up. Ain't nothin' that cain't wait til mornin'."

"Where's Joe?"

"Joe?" Hoss shook his head, wishing he could see whatever it was Adam was looking at, or at least follow his jumping train of thought. "He's asleep, o' course. Adam, it's the middle of the night."

Adam eyed him painfully. "You're sure?"

"'Course I'm sure," Hoss repeated patiently. "He's in bed - jest like you should be."

Adam released his breath slowly, letting his head fall back and closing his eyes. "Good. That's good." He opened them suddenly. "And you said Pa…?"

"Is in his bed. Asleep, or he'd be pushin' in that door right now, I'm bettin'. An' he's gonna take a good strip outta my hide fer not wakin' him up when you came round, too, so if ya need somethin' ta think about, you kin be thinkin' up a good cover story fer me." Adam almost smiled. "So, how about you let me help ya back inta bed?"

Adam shook his head slightly.

Hoss scanned his face again, then nodded unhappily. "Yeah, all right. At least let me stick somethin' under yer knee, then - yer supposed ta keep it raised up."

Adam glanced questioningly at the sight of the right leg thrust straight out in front of him, heavily braced and bandaged, and another quick burst of memory danced in front of him. He closed his eyes again to escape it. "God," he breathed.

Suddenly he was aware that he hurt everywhere, that he was bobbing in a sea of pain and that every pain had a corresponding picture or sound or…he closed his eyes tighter as a slick chill of sweat sprang out all over his skin.

"Hoss?" he managed in a small voice. "I - think I'm going to be sick again."

*

Pa.

Ben sat up straight in bed and opened his eyes. The darkness around him was still and silent except for the thump of his heart. He had no idea what could have awakened him, but instinctively his hand went to his night table, curled around the music box sitting there. Without a conscious thought, he threw back the covers and stood.

His dressing gown was tossed over the foot of the bed, and he shrugged into it, still grasping the small box. Pa, I was waiting…? Two strides took him across the room and to the door.

Usually, he stopped at each door to look in on each boy - his guilty secret; they were adults, after all - but this time he didn't even slow down. He didn't pause until he got to the furthest door, turned the knob without hesitation and pushed it inward. It swung on noiseless hinges.

He wasn't sure exactly what he had expected to see. When he had believed Adam dead, every time he'd entered there he had still somehow still expected to find him in his bed, sleeping peacefully. Perversely, once they had brought Adam home, he'd been constantly poised to find that it had all been a dream - to open the door on an empty room. Now he had no idea what to make of the tableau before him.

Both his older boys seemed to be sitting on the floor, side by side, leaning against the bed fast asleep, listing gently toward each other. One of Hoss's arms was draped along the bed behind Adam in a protective arch, and his soft snuffling snores filled the room. A bitter, acrid odor hung in the air, not quite covered by the tang of incense and the whiff of pine smoke. For a long moment Ben wondered if he were dreaming again - one of those middle-of-the-night dreams where everything was familiar but nothing made sense. He lowered himself into a crouch. The cold floor seemed real enough under his feet. He rubbed at his chest to still the traitorous hammering of his heart.

"Hoss."

Hoss's face was relaxed and peaceful in slumber and he realized with a pang how long it had been since he had seen it that way. Maybe he should just let him sleep. He switched his eyes to Adam, more tentatively. Pa, I was waiting for you…where…?

He drew a deep breath. I was looking, son - every night, in my heart. I swear it. In my heart, I never gave up - even when I thought I had. He lifted a hand; it fluttered over the dark head, dropped without touching.

The gravesite by the lake might suggest otherwise, of course. The floor felt like ice under his thinly clad feet and he shivered.

"Hoss."

He should let him sleep. He should let them both sleep, but they should be in bed, not on the cold floor. What on earth had gotten them there, anyway? He saw Adam shift in his sleep, his brow furrowed. Dreaming. And probably not about anything pleasant. Tell me about what happened, son. Tell me how I can help. Tell me how to get us past this and to the other side - how to start you healing. Not on the outside, that's just a matter of time, but on the inside. How do we even begin to make that better? He rubbed his hands over his face.

"Hoss," he repeated more insistently, tapping him lightly on the knee. He took another deep breath. "Adam."

Adam frowned in his sleep and shifted. Hoss stirred too, then came alive, like a waking mountain. He started to stretch, then stopped himself, narrowing his eyes to slits. "Pa?"

"What's he doing on the floor?" The hissed words sprang out of Ben before he could stop them. Good idea, he mocked himself. Ask about the irrelevant things. Focus on that and maybe you can keep your mind off of your real questions - the ones with no answers.

Hoss screwed up his face. "Oh." He glanced to his left, checked that the quilt had stayed in place, then rubbed at his eyes with the hand that wasn't stretched out behind Adam. "Sorta - threw hisself at me, took a tumble. Weren't hurt," he added hastily at the expression on Ben's face. "I been tryin' ta get'em back there, but he seems ta think he's keepin' guard er somethin'."

Ben winced. Keeping guard against…? "Well, it's freezing. Hasn't he been cold enough?"

Hoss yawned. "That's why I got the quilt," he pointed out reasonably.

Ben reached out automatically to fuss with the quilt, pulled his hand back. "I see." He resisted the urge to check for fever, to touch the scuffed bruise high on one cheek. "Did he wake up?"

Hoss looked uncomfortable. "Yeah. He woke some."

Ben's stomach twitched with a mixed thrust of relief and unease. "Did he - seem to know you?"

Hoss ducked his head in a nod. "Seemed to. Talked a bit."

Ben swallowed a combination of hope and bitter disappointment. The two feelings fought uncertainly in his belly. "You said you'd wake me - "

Hoss moved his hand to his forehead to rub there instead. "I know, but Pa… He - "

He gestured toward his long sleeved undershirt, and Ben finally noticed the hand wound tightly in the fabric on one side of the chest. Even in rest, the grip didn't relax. His throat swelled and he looked away. When he was a baby, Adam used to do that to him sometimes - as though he was trying to keep track of him, even in his sleep. Not this time, of course. Because he hadn't been there. Hoss had. Tell me that it's all over. Tell me that you forgive me. "He needs to be in bed." His voice came out sounding gruff.

"Well, then I guess we either gotta cut this thing off'n me, er I'm going with'em."

Ben looked startled, then almost smiled. "All right. I see your point. I'll - " the words died in his mouth and he froze.

He was watching set of dark lashes flicker, then lift quizzically in a parchment white face, rolling upward over a pair of wide hazel eyes.

Those eyes. His own eyes flickered away for a moment, suddenly unready. When had he thought he'd ever see them again? And what would he see there now?

He forced himself to meet them, searching, felt his own eyes start to crinkle and moisten at the corners, held the murky gaze steadily.

He was wrong. Some things didn't change - not really - not in any way that mattered. Welcome home, son. Oh, God, welcome home.

The hazel eyes blinked, then squinted, trying to bring him into focus.

His smile deepened. "Now, what on earth are you doing on the cold floor?" he asked huskily. He stayed still, as if he was facing a wild animal that might startle. He watched the Adam's apple bob in the still throat. Impulsively, he reached out and ran a thumb down the cheek, cupped it.

It jerked abruptly under his touch. The eyes looked shocked at the reaction, then contrite, begged for understanding.

Ben kept his gaze and gave a small shrug, smiling a slight, rueful smile. "Let's get you back into bed. I'm not brave enough to face the scolding I'll get from Hop Sing if he finds us like this."

Ben didn't wait for permission. He shuffled one arm around Adam's back, carefully trying to avoid the bandages and where he remembered the worst of the bruises and cuts being located. Adam shifted and he continued calmly, "Now, don't try and help us - we'll make out just fine without it."

He winced in sympathy as his hand brushed one shoulder blade and he felt Adam shudder. "Sorry."

Adam didn't ease his deathgrip on Hoss's undershirt and he continued, to distract him, "I'm afraid you have a huge black bruise over each shoulder blade. Paul says it's because your arms were literally being pulled right - " His voice cracked and he stopped. His arms enveloped the figure he was supporting: impulsively, protectively. He felt Adam jerk again but he didn't let him go, and after a second he seemed to relax a little against him, his head dropping wearily until it actually came to rest on his shoulder. Ben closed his eyes. It reminded him so much of the little boy he had held once upon a time, of the way he would droop against him at the end of the day, when exhaustion would finally triumph over stubbornness. He let one palm brush lightly over his hair, the back of his neck. His breath heaved in his chest.

He had his son back. He did, truly, and for the first time he believed it. Of all the graves and all the losses in his past, this one would not be added. He had a different ending this time - not exactly happy, but not tragic. Quiet, tempered with sorrow.

"You're going to be fine," he whispered with fierce conviction somewhere around his ear. "Everything's going to be fine."

He could have sat forever holding his son, but he felt Adam's skin jump again under his hand and gently released him back against the bed. "But you need your rest." He adjusted the comforter meticulously, saw Adam was watching his face, a small crease pinching his brows together. He studied his expression, trying to read it, smiled faintly. "What, are you worried about me?" He shook his head, patted the quilt. "Don't worry about me. I'll be fine."

Adam coughed, cleared his throat. "I - tried - "

Ben rested his elbows on his knees. "Tried what?"

Adam held his eyes. "To - get home…to - tell you…"

"Well. You are home."

Adam closed his eyes, gave a barely perceptible nod.

Ben finally remembered what he was still clutching in his one hand and uncurled his palm. "I - borrowed this while you were - . I borrowed this. Thought you might like it back." He turned the key on the bottom and lifted the lid. The little melody started haltingly, then picked up pace.

Adam opened his eyes. Ben wasn't sure how to read what he saw there, but it scorched a ragged scar across his heart. How could he offer comfort? The usual ways seemed to do more harm than good. His hands felt large and clumsy, useless blocks at the end of his arms. "It's going to be all right." And other stupid, useless promises. "Everything will be fine. It just takes time. Now. Will you let us help you back into bed?"

For a moment, he saw the hand tighten convulsively in the folds of Hoss's shirt. Then Adam looked at him directly, his gaze burning.

"Pa. I need to talk to Roy."